Love Is A Battlefield
by Jean-theGuardian
Summary: In the midst of his battles with Paul Heyman, a reluctant CM Punk finds himself trying to stay out of the war between Daniel Bryan and Randy Orton and the McMahons' Authority. So, how does an old flame with troubles of her own end up drawing him into this mess? Punk/AJ, Randy Orton, Daniel Bryan, Triple H, Stephanie, John Cena, Dolph Ziggler and more! Co-Written By Maizeandbluekid
1. Prologue

**Love Is A Battlefield**

**By Jean-theGuardian & Maizeandbluekid**

**Summary**: In the midst of his battles with Paul Heyman, a reluctant CM Punk finds himself trying to stay out of the war between Daniel Bryan and Randy Orton and the McMahons. So, how does an old flame with troubles of her own end up drawing him into this mess? Punk/AJ, Randy Orton, Daniel Bryan, Triple H, Stephanie, John Cena, Dolph Ziggler and more!

**Disclaimer**: All characters are owned by WWE, and are not the property of the writers of this story.

* * *

**Love Is A Battlefield**  
**Prologue**

* * *

**WWE RAW – Sept. 16, 2013**  
**Quicken Loans Arena, Cleveland, Ohio**  
**One night after Night of Champions 2013**  
**Backstage – Triple H's office**

* * *

Watching intently at the large screen plasma TV that hung on his wall, Triple H stared at the carnage left that was solely the orchestration of his charming wife, Stephanie McMahon.

Around her, the hungry pack of dogs—_their_ dogs—known as The Shield.

To her left near the entrance of the ring, a tearful and distraught Big Show.

And at his feet…the cold-cocked, unconscious body of "The American Dream", Dusty Rhodes.

The scene should have made him pleased. He should have taken comfort in yet another shining example of why the McMahon family and he were the all-powerful force in the industry, why their word was law, and why all superstars and divas in the back should take heed and fear them.

Except he could do no such thing…for this unsettling churning in the pit of his stomach, this impending sense of foreboding seemed to have continued to broil and nag at him.

If you'd have told the 13-time world champion months ago that out of all the superstars on the roster that could have possibly caused this feeling, that it would be none other than Daniel Bryan…hairy, unkempt, non-flashy, nothing-happening tiny little Daniel Bryan…he would have outright laughed in your face. The idea was absurd. It was ridiculous. Daniel Bryan was nothing, he was a mere bug on a windshield. Sure, he was a good little technician, and the fans loved him and that stupid "YES!" chant of his, but seriously, it wasn't like this was Stone Cold Steve Austin or the Rock that he was dealing with here.

And for those reasons, although Hunter knew a lot of people wouldn't understand, Daniel Bryan simply couldn't be WWE Champion. He was completely unmarketable to the mainstream audience; how were they supposed to pursue corporate accounts and advertising dollars if the company's top champion, its face, was this little shrimp of a guy with a unshaven face and a body that, compared to the men who held that title in the past, resembled a wet toothpick?

No, that would be bad for business.

He might not have liked Randy Orton very much, especially after all the bad blood and dark history between them, but when it came down to it, Orton was marketable. He had the chiseled physique, the movie star good looks, the genetic talent and the track record of being a champion and a sure-fire draw. As much as part of Hunter didn't like it from a personal standpoint, the other side, the businessman that he had become? _That_ part that took emotions out of the equation, and that part believed that the Viper as WWE Champion, as the face of the company, was truly what was best for business.

Over the last four weeks, he and the McMahons had thrown everything _and including_ the kitchen sink at Bryan, bashing him, having him beaten down, outnumbered, jumped on, and sometimes even worse over and over and over again. By now, he should have gotten the message: stop coming after the WWE Championship. Abandon this mad quest, for you will never reach your goal so long as the company is owned by the McMahon family.

Yet, time after time, no matter how many times they kept trying to put him down, Daniel kept getting back up. He kept coming. It was as if his spirit was unbreakable. His will undaunted. His pursuit unrelenting. His dream undeterred. And he kept on winning. It was as if the wrestling gods were smiling down upon that little hairy troll. Every situation they kept putting him in, Bryan continued to persevere when he should have fallen flat on his face.

It would have been admirable to Hunter if he didn't find it so damn irritating.

Now, here he was, the great and feared Triple H, the COO of the WWE, one of the most decorated stars in the history of sports entertainment, in a dire situation. Here he was, forced to doctor up fake collusion charges with a referee against Bryan in order to hold the WWE Championship vacant after Orton failed to get the job done against Daniel the night before at Night of Champions. Forced to put a stain on the most prestigious title in the business, a championship held by the all-time greats, himself included, all to keep it out of one annoyingly persistent little man's grubby hands.

And the worst part…some of the boys and ladies in the back were starting to get behind him now. They supported him. They cheered for him. They spurred him on almost as fervently as the fans were. And despite all of his family's best efforts to get the situation under control, targeting anyone who spoke out, beating down anyone who dared support Daniel's little quest, or in Big Show's case, blackmailing the more powerful and influential stars to keep towing the line, much to the Cerebral Assassin's chagrin, Daniel's support continued to grow. In fact, it seemed to be getting stronger by the day, as even more guys were starting to join Daniel's cause. And the fans' stupid chants of "YES! YES! YES!" continued to grow even louder and louder with each passing night.

Despite Stephanie's assurances that they had things under control with Orton and The Shield at their beck and call and all of their power and resources at their command, Hunter knew better. As long as Daniel's troops had something to believe in, this unsettling movement in the back would become a full-scale rebellion. And in his long experience as the top dog on the food chain in this company, he knew that those kinds of things often got too far out of control for him to handle.

Which is why he needed to snuff out this problem as soon as possible. Find a way to break their spirits. But how? Taking out Bryan would be a bad move; he knew the locker room would surely jump up to defend their little champion in a moment's notice as soon as they sensed he was in real danger. And Big Show was far too reluctant and sympathetic to be used as a weapon to quell the restless locker room movement. He couldn't be trusted.

What he needed was someone ideal. Someone who was just as popular, maybe even more so, than Bryan, but as respected as the Big Show. Someone who the fans would listen to. Someone whose allegiance with his family could be seen as not only a ringing endorsement of their methods, but a way to break the spirit of the boys and girls in the back.

But, as Hunter scrolled the WWE roster on his smartphone, reviewing the potential candidates, he realized that he was left with very few options.

Clearly, that someone wasn't Randy Orton, as the boos from the crowd and the stares of disdain from the rest of the locker room could attest. Sheamus was still out on injured reserve, and even if John Cena wasn't quite healthy himself, he had too much of a bleeding heart to help out the McMahons. Besides the fact, after seven years of Cena as the face of the company, frankly, Hunter wouldn't have minded a change at this point. For the right money, maybe The Rock could have been that guy, but aside from having a personal distaste for Dwayne based on their long and storied rivalry, the People's Champion had decided to focus more on his movie career after WrestleMania. And neither he nor Stephanie were willing to pay the king's ransom that Brock Lesnar would have fetched, even if they didn't hate his guts and that of his slimy handler Paul Heyman.

They wouldn't be the right mold, anyway. He needed a working-class guy, yet someone with that mega-star appeal and the resume that commanded respect, someone who…

_...Respect..._

That one simple word suddenly made the gears in The Game's cunning mind spin wildly as he scrolled furiously through the list until his eyes landed on one image. One man.

Hunter immediately began laying out the pros and cons. Sure, he and this guy had some bad history between them, as well. Stephanie, in particular, didn't appreciate several public jokes and jabs taken by this man at her expense in the past. And he knew that Vince himself had never quite seen eye-to-eye with that guy. He was cocky, he was brash; he was controversial, unpredictable and he was ridiculously self-assured…but then again, Hunter admitted that he kind of liked that. It reminded him a little of himself back in his younger days.

He was also a proven draw now. His merchandise sales rivaled that of Cena's. On the road, he was a huge attraction, one of their top three draws, in fact. The fans were clamoring for him and chanting his name with just as much fervor as they shouted that one-syllable catchphrase for Bryan. He was a respected ring warrior who proved he could win big and hang with some of the greatest of all time, who never shied away from the big moments. And more importantly, he knew how to beat Daniel Bryan. He made a career out of beating him, especially in WWE title situations.

He was the perfect choice, and Hunter knew he had to get this guy.

He might have needed a little polishing, but with the right touch and the right amount of money-Hunter had learned that this guy was, at the end of the day, a businessman, like himself-this could be the guy he needed to squash Daniel and this little uprising he had started once and for all. Partnered with Orton and the Shield and the backing of the McMahon empire, this guy would be the nail in the coffin to this rebellion and get things back to the way they were in this company…getting back to business as usual.

Hunter smirked at the image on his phone as a sense of clarity dawned on him. To get things back to normal, to take Daniel Bryan out of the WWE title picture, he knew exactly who he wanted. No…who he _needed_. He needed a maverick. He needed a star. He needed a winner.

He needed the best…the _Best in the World_, in fact.

He needed CM Punk.

And one way or another, Triple H vowed that he would get his man. By any means necessary.

* * *

TBC


	2. Question Authority

**Love Is A Battlefield - Part 1  
By Jean-theGuardian & Maizeandbluekid  
**

* * *

_We are young,  
_

_Heartache to heartache we stand No promises no demands,  
_

_Love is a battlefield_

_We are strong, no one can tell us we're wrong_

_Searching our hearts for so long_

_Both of us knowing_

_Love is a battlefield _

_- Pat Benetar, "Love Is a Battlefield_

* * *

**WWE RAW – Sept. 16, 2013  
Quicken Loans Arena, Cleveland, Ohio  
One night after Night of Champion 2013**

* * *

As he sat down on the floor pensively, brooding immensely as he leaned up against a stack of crates near gorilla, CM Punk winced as he clutched his tender, taped-up, aching ribs.

He should have been enjoying his rare night off, he knew that. But then again, it's pretty difficult to enjoy a night off when your back and neck and everything else is screaming in agonizing pain after a roided-up, near-300-pound slab of meat decides to introduce you through the business end of a table the hard way only a little shy of 24 hours ago.

After nearly 16 years in the business, even counting the backyard wrestling stuff he used to do, CM Punk knew better than most how it felt like going through a table. And he wished he could say that it got easier over time to take one of those bumps, but the fact is, it wasn't. Each time his body was sent through one of those splintering, hard wooden slabs, it was like going through a small car wreck each and every time. The human body was not meant to go through that kind of punishment; and even though Punk was as tough as they came, (Teflon-tough, even) privately, he had to admit that even he had his limits.

And last night, those limits were sorely tested thanks to an old foe—that damned Ryback.

Part of Punk had hoped that he had seen the last of that clumsy, lumbering oaf that he had beaten time after time again last year for the WWE title during his record-breaking 434-day reign, including a TLC match in early January. Yet some nine months and about 24 hours into the present later, for reasons that he had yet to decipher, the man dubbed the "Human Wrecking Ball" had seen fit to interfere in Punk's business at Night of Champions, just as he was giving his former friend, and mentor-turned-sworn enemy, Paul Heyman, the well-deserved beating of his miserable life.

Just as Punk was about to exorcise the demon that was the portly, slimy manager from his life and his mind.

And yes, the specter of Heyman was looming larger in Punk's mind than he cared to admit. The mere thought of him made his blood boil. The image of his smirking, chubby face and the sound of his grating, nasally, smug voice made Punk's face curl into a scowl. He had once trusted that man, loved him like he was family after everything that Paul did for him in the early years, fighting for him when no one else believed in him, supporting his dreams to become the star that Punk eventually became thanks to one angry speech he gave on a stage in Las Vegas just two years ago. He was like a father to Punk, more so, in fact than even his real father was…and in one fell swoop and with three vicious shots with a ladder at July's Money In the Bank PPV, Heyman had flushed Punk's friendship, and his shot at winning the coveted championship contract briefcase for an unprecedented third time, down the toilet, leaving Punk with nothing but 13 stitches in his head for his troubles.

His reward for trusting that backstabbing son-of-a-bitch with his life.

Ever since then, Punk could see nothing, could think of nothing else except one thing, one mission, one mantra, one all-consuming purpose in his life: eradicating Paul Heyman from the face of the earth.

It didn't matter who was in his way, it didn't matter what it took or how long it would take him, it didn't matter who he had to get through, whether it be his "New Guy", the third-generational Curtis Axel, or even his longtime and more famous "Guy", the Beast himself, Brock Lesnar…and now, Ryback, apparently…no, Punk would not stop coming until he could feel his hands around Heyman's bloated neck, fingers tightening, cartilage snapping, eyes bulging out in their sockets as they gazed up in fear and dread at the one man on Earth he should have _never_ double-crossed.

In Punk's mind, this latest setback last night was just that, a setback. Another clever roadblock that Heyman had erected in Punk's path. Another one of his "guys" for him to hide behind. It didn't matter, though, not to Punk. He made a career, a lifetime, out of going through obstacles. And no obstacle on Earth was going to deter him from his newfound goal of destroying Heyman and everything and everyone he hid behind.

But for tonight, one obstacle was impeding him from finding Heyman, Axel and Ryback and tearing them to pieces, and it wasn't his taped-up ribs; no, it was instead the newly-appointed Raw General Manager, Brad Maddox. Punk snorted to himself in distaste as he recalled that smarmy kid's pompous order that he stay away from Heyman and Ryback tonight…

_I understand that you must feel humiliated after what happened last night, Punk. But as the General Manager of Raw, I have no choice but to bar you from any competition or physical action tonight. Seeing as you aren't fit to compete right now, you are not to put your hands on Paul Heyman or any of his clients until you are physically healed. I'm not going to have my job jeopardized by having one of the show's biggest stars get put on the injured reserve list because he put his need for revenge over his health. That's not what's best for business._

Punk shook his head in disgust. "_Best for business?"_ Please.

Maddox was a joke, the Straight Edge Superstar thought dismissively; he was someone who shouldn't even be in the business. In Punk's eyes, that little twerp was just as spineless and clueless now as he was when he had inadvertently drew attention to himself last year by stupidly screwing up the count in one of Punk's own matches. If it wasn't for the fact that Punk laid into him on national television, Maddox would still be wearing a stripped referee shirt instead of taking up the helm, rather incompetently, at that, at the Raw GM position. As far as Punk was concerned, that scrawny pissant was no Teddy Long; hell, as erratic and unpredictable as she was, even AJ did a better job as GM than Maddox did.

He paused for a moment when the thought of the dark-haired, petite Divas Champion with the intense, dark eyes, mocha-hued skin and haunting, yet illuminating smile entered his mind out of nowhere and unexpectedly. It was odd, all things considered. He and AJ had been apart for almost a year since he made the mistake of listening to Heyman's advice about focusing on his WWE title run and cruelly cutting her loose-a distraction, Heyman called her-from his life. They hadn't spoken in months since things ended between them.

He smirked to himself; it was typical that she could enter his thoughts in the same fashion as she entered his life a year ago…sudden, without warning and refusing to be ignored. Yeah, that was his…well, that was AJ. She hadn't been _his_ in a long time. But then again, there were a lot of things that hadn't been his in a long time.

It had been months since he was in the WWE title picture. And in the locker room, he was still dealing with the negative fallout from his antics last year when he let Paul influence him into becoming someone that, in retrospect, he was ashamed of being. The things he did…attacking and assaulting Jerry "The King" Lawler, turning on his friends, humiliating and disrespecting legends such as Ric Flair and Bret Hart, and men he respected like The Undertaker and Jim Ross; dishonoring the memory of the late Paul Bearer and worst of all, the cold, heartless way he had ignored AJ, someone he deeply cared for, someone he…God, it made Punk sick to think that he could sink that low.

He had done some bad things in his career, but few were as bad as that time in his life where the WWE title, and only the WWE title, as well as a constant demand for respect all but consumed his work, as well as his life. He had lost a lot of friends in the back during that time, and only a few of them had begun to return. While he always had some people in his corner, like his old buddy Kofi Kingston, there were many in the locker room, even people who were once his closest friends, to whom Punk was considered persona-non-grata, an unwelcome presence, something that, deep down, had hurt him to realize. He gave up a lot of what he loved about his life, all because he let a parasite of a man that he mistook for a friend prey upon his anger, his frustrations, his professional and personal insecurities, and turn him into a monster, into someone he barely recognized when he looked in the mirror.

It took his loss to Undertaker at WrestleMania, and two months away from the business, getting back to himself in the comfort of his hometown of Chicago with his friends and family, to realize fully what he had done, and what he needed to do to get back to who he really was, so he could get back everything he once lost…clawing his way back to where he needed to be, both in his professional and private lives.

And this time, he wouldn't do it with Paul Heyman's help; no, he'd do it by stepping on Heyman's carcass, along with anyone who dared stand in his way.

Punk was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost didn't hear the sirens of the ambulance being backed into the rear of the building. He looked up and caught the rather disturbing sight of the aging Hall of Famer Dusty Rhodes, fading in and out of consciousness, being wheeled in from the trainer's room, a crowd of Superstars and Divas alike beginning to crowd worriedly around the fallen legend, who only a few minutes ago was knocked out cold by a reluctant and teary-eyed Big Show at the sadistic behest of Stephanie McMahon and the Shield.

Punk's stomach turned at the sight; Dusty was one of the few people along the way that had gone out of their way to help Punk out when he was just starting out in the company. "The American Dream" had taught Punk much about the psychology of the mat, how to make his words make a meaningful impact, how to fine-tune a few seemingly small, but crucial aspects of his game that helped turn the tattooed wrestler into one of the most respected athletes in the business. He was wise, kind and humble, and Punk thought nothing but the best of the southern-born wrestling icon.

And over the past number of weeks, the McMahons, The Shield and Randy Orton had gone out of their way to embarrass and humiliate not only him, but his two sons, Dustin (known famously as the bizarre, face paint wearing Goldust) and Cody Rhodes. And for what? Because they had to prove a point? Because they could? Because it was fun? Because it was "best for business"? The thought of it made Punk sick. Worse than sick…it made him angry.

He spotted his once-friend-turned-rival, Daniel Bryan, a man who, in his mind as well as many others, should have been WWE Champion at this very moment if it weren't for Triple H screwing him twice in a two-month span-at SummerSlam, Pedigreeing him to the mat before he could defend himself, allowing Orton to slither in and cash in his Money in the Bank briefcase, ruining a moment that the once-known American Dragon had dreaming of and chasing after for 15 years; and the other being his stripping Daniel of the title earlier in the night, claiming he was part of a "conspiracy" the night before in winning the title, due to some egregious actions from a referee. Boy, did that sound familiar to Punk.

Daniel was forcing his way through the crowd of clamoring and anxious Superstars, clutching Dusty's limp hand and repeatedly, worriedly asking him if he was okay, though the elder man was barely responsive, managing only a weak, crooked smile at the bearded rebellion leader.

From his place near the edge of the crowd, leaning against the wall, the sight made Punk's sad green eyes fall. Deep down, he was gaining a new found respect for Daniel. Sure, they had a lot of bad history between them in the past year…bad history that had to do with the cruel way Bryan had treated a certain tiny brunette that became more important to Punk than he could ever imagine…but he had seen Bryan slowly change for the better over the course of a year, which was more than Punk could have said of himself until recently.

He had seen Bryan go from a conceited loner to an awkward tag partner and then a true friend to Kane, then a plucky underdog who beat the heralded John Cena, to a reluctant leader and inspiration in the locker room when he fought back against the all-powerful McMahon family that deemed him "bad for business" and unfit to be the WWE Champion. Punk knew all too well what it was like to have people more powerful than him tell him that he couldn't reach his goals and accomplish his dreams, that he was not good enough to make it to the WWE, not big enough to be a main event superstar, not handsome enough to be a major player on either Raw or Smackdown, not mainstream enough to be the WWE Champion.

Some of those people were now telling Daniel the same exact thing. And now, Daniel was doing the same thing that Punk himself had been doing for the last six years…proving each and every single one of them wrong. And Punk had to admit, the thought of it made him proud of the man he was friends with for a decade.

His thoughts were interrupted again when the sight of the massive Big Show stepped through the curtain, a tortured look on his face. As he neared the stretcher, making his way through the angry stares and looks of disgust from the crowd of Superstars and Divas around Dusty, Punk honestly felt bad for the man. He heard about Big Show's troubles, and knew he was in a desperate situation. Forced to choose between helping your friends and providing for your family because a couple of rich, power-hungry snobs delighted in making you their puppet so to keep everyone in the back in line…Punk could only imagine how hard that must have been for anyone.

He knew Show was a good man, deep down, and that to be forced to do these things, to stand by and do nothing, or worse, to have to attack his own friends to provide for his family, it had to be a nightmare. If Punk was a religious man, he would have thanked God for the fact that he was a little more savvy about handling his money than Big Show was; because the day he'd be forced to kiss the McMahon's asses to put food on his table was the day he'd play Russian Roulette with a shotgun first.

From near Daniel, Dolph Ziggler, looking up from his place near Dusty, angrily stepped in front of the towering athlete. "You've got no right to be here after what you did, man," he said angrily. "He was your friend, Show. He helped you out when you were as young as most of us here. He's _a 67-year-old man,_ for God's sakes! How the hell could you do that to him?"

Show's voice, choked with emotion, was a virtual croak as he tried to explain himself. "Dolph…I didn't want…I didn't mean to, I…"

His explanation was cut off by a furious Daniel, who came flying back and shoved the massive wrestler, though he barely moved him at all. "You didn't _mean_ to? What makes you think me or anyone else gives _a damn_ about what you meant to do, Show? _HUH_?"

Silently watching, Punk was taken aback by the righteous anger, the pure fury in Bryan's voice. He had never heard that much concentrated emotion out of his old friend before, the smaller man jabbing his finger angrily into the Big Show's chest. "What, you think because you feel bad about it now that it makes it okay? That makes it okay that you punched out a Hall of Famer, a man who mentored people like me, like Dolph, like most of the people here right now? That makes it okay that you added to torturing his family again? How do you think Cody feels now after having to watch his dad get put on a stretcher from his home and not being able to do anything about it? Or Goldust? Did you even think about that, Show, before you balled up your fist and nearly caved in his skull? You could have stopped this, you could have-"

"_I COULD HAVE __**WHAT**__, DANIEL_?" the giant's angry, cracking voice boomed out, making virtually everyone around him take a step back. "HUH? I could have stopped The Shield? I could have stood up to Stephanie and Hunter? I want to, you know I want to, but I can't. I CAN'T! And you know that! All you have to look out for is you and maybe even Brie now. You know what I got? I got a house I can't pay off, I got a wife and kids that I have to provide for, I have a lot of people counting on me to bring home a paycheck every month! What am I supposed to tell them if I get fired? Huh? That I can't help them pay bills or put food on their table because I screwed up at work? Is that what you want me to do?"

Unafraid, a defiant Daniel angrily barked back. "What I _want_ is for you to be _a man_, Show, to be the man I've known for three years! To be the guy everyone looks to in the locker room as an example. To be a good man, Show, the man we all know you are." Daniel shook his head in disgust. "But if you want to be Triple H and Stephanie's own personal pet _bitch_, then you know what? Go right ahead, Show, you have my blessing. But you can't do it here. Now, get the hell out of here. Dusty doesn't need you around here, and neither do we."

Dolph folded his arms alongside Daniel in solidarity as The Usos, Kofi, Zack Ryder and Rob Van Dam flanked alongside them. "Show, you'd better go. _Now_."

Van Dam shook his head, sadly. He felt bad for Show, he knew him for years, but he also knew the situation would not get any less tense with him still there. "Sorry, dude. But maybe you'd better go and let things cool down."

Show's head hung low, a defeated look on the giant's face as he slowly turned away, trudging back from the glaring eyes of the crowd as most of them returned their attention to Dusty being helped into the ambulance by the paramedics.

Punk's eyes fell again as he looking awkwardly down at his wrist tape, feigning the need to check them to avoid eye contact with the emotional big man slowly dragging himself his way. He would give the man what little dignity he had left. He deserved that much, after all.

Imagine his surprise when the Big Show stopped right in front of him, looking Punk dead in his stunned green eyes.

"Punk," he said, pleadingly. "I…I had no choice. You understand, don't you? Don't you?"

For a moment, Punk was so surprised that he had no idea what to say. But off the beseeching look in the eyes of the World's Largest Athlete, Punk offered a sympathetic nod. "Yeah, Show. I understand."

The giant's massive hand ran back over his bald head, a dry laugh escaping his lips. "I hate this. I hate…everything. Everyone thinks I'm a creep now. Again."

Maybe it was because he knew what it was like to have most of his coworkers hate him. Maybe it was because he knew a thing or two about letting the wrong people get into one's head and making them do terrible things. Hell, maybe it's because the guy looked like somebody ran over his puppy with a pickup truck. But the words that came out of Punk's mouth next surprised even him.

"You're not a bad guy, Show," Punk said quietly, patting him on the arm. "You're just caught in a bad situation with some bad people. I know it may not mean anything, but for what it's worth, I'm rooting for you to pull through. Daniel was right about one thing…deep down, you're a good man, Show. Just remember to show people that a little more often."

With a grateful nod, Big Show reached out and patted Punk on the shoulder. "That," he paused, swallowing hard, "means more to me than you know, Punk. I mean that. More than you'll ever know."

Off Punk's small smile and reciprocated nod, Big Show was able to walk back to the locker room, his spirits still visibly down, but his head just a tad higher.

Punk sighed, shaking his head. Honestly, he felt bad for Show. He knew he was in a bad situation, a terrible one. At the very least, he had an excuse for doing the bad things he'd been doing as of late. Show was looking out for his family; when Punk hit rock bottom months ago, he was only looking out for himself, and he was disgusted by it now. He only hoped that Show would be able to get through this eventually. He deserved better than this.

His thoughts were broken up as his sharp eyes caught sight of a small figure hovering in the background, almost in the shadows, a good 10, 15 feet from the edge of the crowd. Punk wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it for himself.

AJ.

She hovered back from sight, alone, her Divas title-normally carefully nestled on her shoulder-hanging loosely from her left hand as she watched the events around her transpire, her pensive brown eyes fixed on the sight of Dusty being hauled into the waiting ambulance. Anyone who didn't know her as well as Punk did wouldn't have been able to pick up on her emotions, which she could make guarded as easily as she could put them out there for all the world to see. And Punk could read her more easily than he liked to admit. And what he was reading now was that she seemed genuinely…sad.

Why, however, he wasn't sure. She could have been sad for Dusty. She could have been sad for what happened to Show. Or sad that there wasn't really anyone she could talk to about it these days. Like Punk, AJ had not endeared herself to the locker room in the last few months, either. She had alienated herself from virtually the entire Divas locker room, the men's locker room knew to steer clear of the erratic, often unstable spitfire, and even Stephanie McMahon herself had seemed to have it out for AJ these days. To her credit, Punk admitted, she hung in there, tough as nails, taking solace in the fact that she had finally achieved her dream of making it to the top, like he did. Only he had been where AJ was now, and he knew where that lonely road she was on ultimately ended up taking people. He only hoped that she could find her way back sometime soon. Things might not have worked out well between them, but he cared about her enough to want her to be happy. Truly happy, not the kind of fake happiness that a title reign with no one to celebrate it with brought.

As if she was reading his thoughts, her eyes looked up and met his from across the room. For a minute, Punk didn't know what to do, caught staring like a deer in the headlights into the soulful, mysterious dark irises of the beautiful Diva that took him on a whirlwind emotional ride last year. And from the startled, unsure look on her face, he could see that she was a little confused as to what to do here, as well. Unsure of what her reaction should be…or what reaction she would get from the other half of another of her failed relationships.

He didn't know what possessed him to act next, or how wise this would be, considering their history, his state of mind and, more unpredictable than that, her own mental state, but she just looked so lonely and scared and, damn it all, even now, Punk just couldn't stand to see her look so lost. So, swallowing hard and opening himself up just a little, he gave her a small, encouraging half-smile. It was just a sign, guarded enough for him to blow it off if her response was cold or indifferent, but open enough to let her know there was at least one person who could get what she was feeling.

The moment seemed to drag on painfully for Punk, until, to his surprise, he saw her pink lips offer back a shaky, shy, yet somehow sweet smile. And for a moment, something deep inside him jumped a little. It was a frightening feeling, but at the same time, it felt good, exciting, even…familiar.

Shaking off the feeling, his smile faded as he gave her a small nod and turned away quickly down the hallway, looking to watch the show from his bus and get the hell out of here. Things were getting confusing enough as it was, he didn't need anything even more complicated to add to his troubles.

Little did Punk know that from that one moment that night, his life was about to become complicated; very, _very_ complicated…

* * *

**TBC...**

* * *

#PunkleeNation

-Jean-theGuardian

-**Maizeandbluekid**


	3. What's Best for Business

**Love Is A Battlefield - ****Part 2**

**By Jean-theGuardian & Maizeandbluekid**

* * *

**WWE RAW – Sept. 16, 2013  
Quicken Loans Arena, Cleveland, Ohio  
One night after Night of Champions 2013  
Backstage – Triple H's office**

* * *

"No."

The crisp, dismissive answer from his wife Stephanie McMahon's lips drew a bemused smile from Triple H's lips. If it were anyone else who would had answered him back with such a tone, he would have been seething, but the look of annoyance on Stephanie's striking features…hell, Triple H admitted, it was kind of hot to see.

"No?" he echoed back, grinning almost boyishly.

However, given the topic of conversation, his charms had no effect on his normally more willing spouse. "You heard what I said, Hunter," her unamused reply came. "_No_."

"I don't know the meaning of the word, you know that, honey," the Game continued to cajole her.

"Then let me put it into simple terms, _dear_," she frostily replied. "No. Defined as an exclamation or noun used to indicated a negative response, answer or decision. As in, 'No, taking a laxative before work is not a good idea,' or 'No, you may not baseline jump off a building without a bungee cord.'" Her scowl deepened. "Or in this case, 'No, there is _no way in hell_ I am _ever_ going to agree to working with _CM Punk_!' No, no way, no how, not gonna happen, nuh-uh, sorry, I don't think so, forget it."

Hunter sighed. "Can you give me one good reason why not?"

Her perfectly groomed eyebrows raised incredulously. If it wasn't for the fact that this preposterous idea her husband had just revealed to her surprised Stephanie enough, his complete nonchalance about the implications and consequences would have left her slack-jawed. "I can give you a list as long as _**Santa's**_ about _why_! Hunter, I know you've done your share of crazy things in this business, but out of all the insane crap you've concocted, this is by far the craziest."

At that, Hunter let out a chuckle. "Really? You really think so, Steph? Crazier than eloping in Vegas to piss off your dad?"

"Yes."

"Crazier than paying off a fat dancing Samoan guy to run over Stone Cold Steve Austin?"

"Yes."

"Or having sex with a mannequin at a funeral to screw with Kane's head?"

"_Yes_."

"Or having the balls to face animals like Mick Foley, the Undertaker and Brock Lesnar in some of the most brutal matches we have?"

"_Yes_!" she exclaimed, before groaning as she caught herself, turning away in frustration as her hand flew to her forehead. "Damn it, Hunter, now you're making sound like Daniel Bryan. That's it, this is officially the _worst_ conversation we've ever had."

Hunter shook his head. He had anticipated that Stephanie was going to put up a fight about this. After all, he knew that Punk hadn't exactly endeared himself to Stephanie in the last few years, particularly due to the events of one unforgettably eventful summer back in 2011.

Frankly, the WWE's C.O.O. found the Straight Edge Superstar to be a pain in the ass, himself. But Hunter also knew that if this idea of his worked, it could potentially be the blow that slammed the door on this little uprising that Daniel was playing the ringleader for. And for that, Hunter would be willing to bury those feelings he had towards the outspoken Chicago-born multi-time world champion so things could get back to the way they were supposed to be around this company…_his_ company.

After all, once old man Vince decided to head to a beach and leave the business for good, all of this, the whole company, the brand that was World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc., would belong to him, the C.O.O., soon to be the most powerful man in the industry. Hunter had a vision that he saw for this company—one that didn't include Daniel Bryan holding the WWE Championship he once wore with dignity and pride—and to see that vision through, he would do absolutely anything and deal with absolutely anyone he needed to.

Anyone.

Chuckling, Hunter slowly crossed the room and began massaging his wife's tense shoulders. "Hey, c'mon now, baby…just relax, remember how this works? We're a team, one of us throws out their big ideas, the other helps back their play and maybe fine tune it. This is all about team, this is all about business. That's why I thought of Punk. He's the best choice around for the job, Steph, and deep down, you know it."

"We don't know that yet," she countered as she spun back to him, her own cunning mind listing through the options at a frantic rate. "There are plenty of _other_ superstars that we could choose. Better ones, reasonable ones, people we can actually _negotiate_ with. Randy's doing a fine enough job proving himself as our handpicked company face, and if anyone can take out that little twerp Daniel, it's him."

Hunter rolled his eyes at that response. "Don't get me started on Orton. We both agreed he's just a placeholder at the moment. He's got way too much heat on him with the people in the back, and the fans have started to get cold to him after he agreed to help us take the title off Daniel at Summerslam. He's a bandaid to the situation, nothing more."

Stephanie cursed silently, knowing full well that Hunter was right. But she wasn't ready to concede that easily. "What about…what about The Rock? Let's just throw a blank check at him and have _him_ handle things!"

Hunter sighed in frustration at the mention of his old rival. "For the last time, Steph, we've had these discussions with his people. He's _not_ coming back. After he got his little boo-boo at WrestleMania and that Michael Bay douchebag opened his big fat mouth about it, Dwayne's gonna be focusing on his little movie projects full time for a while. I say 'Good riddance,' he was too high-strung, anyway."

"Sheamus?" she threw out in a desperate gamble.

"You want to wait around 3 to 4 months for him to come back from injury?" Hunter countered, easily. "That's time we don't have."

The Billion Dollar Princess found her options running low, and it was frustrating. "_Cena_?" she blurted out.

Off the long, deadpanned stare the Game gave Stephanie, the Connecticut-bred executive sighed, realizing how desperate that sounded even to her. "Right. Forgot. Never gonna happen."

Still, the stubborn daughter of Vince McMahon didn't give up. There had to be something…_anything_…that could keep her from having to lower herself to working with…_that man_. "What about…what about raiding the Impact Wrestling roster? We could outbid them for _anyone_, hands down. What about Jeff Hardy? The fans loved him, too, before he left. Or Kurt Angle? I have a great relationship with him! Or maybe _we_ can finally be the ones to bring _Sting_ into the WWE."

Rather easily, Hunter dismissed those options. "Jeff? History of drug problem, unreliable. Kurt? Aging, bad neck, could retire at any given moment. And _Sting_? C'mon, Steph, if we're going to start looking at dinosaurs to lead us into the future, why not just bring back Hulk Hogan and make _him_ the WWE Champion again?"

Off the small glimmer of cautious hope in Stephanie's eyes, Hunter firmly shot that down. "_**No**_, Steph."

Realizing that she had officially run out of cards to play, Stephanie's face curled up into a scowl. "Hunter, I am _not_ working with that man. I refuse."

Hunter sighed, patiently. "Look, Steph, I know you and Punk don't get along-"

"Don't get along?" Stephanie scoffed. _That_ was an understatement if she ever heard one. "He's _insufferable_, Hunter. He's smug, he's rude, he's egotistical, stubborn, disrespectful-"

"People say the same things about me, and you seem to like me just fine," he teased her, cajolingly.

Ruefully smiling, Stephanie rolled her eyes as she playfully poked his chest. "Well, when you do it, I think it's hot. There's a difference."

Smirking, he pulled her close and pressed his lips onto hers in a long, slow kiss. He'd take it to the grave before admitting it to anyone, but the fact was, yes, it _was_ fun being able to sleep with the boss' daughter. Definitely had its advantages, especially in business negotiations. He wasn't saying he didn't love the mother of his children, because he did, but hell, he was just being honest.

Breaking apart from their embrace, he met her content, smiling face…and continued to sell his pitch. "You know Punk's the guy we need right now, baby."

Groaning, she pushed off of him, her mood soured again. "He's a nightmare to work with, Hunter, you know that first hand."

Triple H countered frankly. "And yet, the guy draws money," he said. "Didn't your dad have to work with a lot of people he personally didn't like in order to do business? Us doing business with Punk is no different than when your father had to work with Hogan or the Ultimate Warrior to get a contract done for business."

"The Ultimate Warrior never called me idiotic and clueless in front of a live television audience, called my family stupid or insinuated that the company would be better off if my _father_ was _dead_!" she snapped, bitterly recalling Punk's most famous promo. "And Hulk Hogan never kept me up for 24 hours before a Pay Per View going over contract details and drove me up the wall during negotiations on the _day of_ said Pay Per View all to keep him in the company. No, Punk was the one who did that."

Stephanie was never a forgiving person when it came to people embarrassing her. She held grudges. She carried vendettas. And it had been a very long time since anyone had gotten under her skin quite like the man dubbed "the Best in the World" had during the summer of 2011. Punk had resigned his new deal with the company—a very lucrative, and last-minute offer—that she had personally had to work on for days leading up to the now-famous 2011 Money in the Bank PPV. But not before he made her, Vince, and Hunter jump through a lot of hoops.

He refused to even consider negotiating with the now-former EVP of Talent Relations John Laurinaitis, insisting that the McMahons themselves personally handle the contract negotiations. Punk took his time, drew things out and seemed to really enjoy putting their feet over the proverbial coals before he inked his new deal just in time for his WWE championship main event match with John Cena. It was the most aggravating, humiliating and frustrating business deal of Stephanie's professional career. It was an incident that she never forgave nor forgot.

"I realize that," Hunter tried again, patiently. "Look, I'm not saying that we're going to have to have him over for dinner every week. We just need to work with him in order to get this situation under control."

"We have things under control," Stephanie protested.

At that suggestion, he scoffed, pointing to the closed door, the only barrier between them and backstage. "You call what's happening out there _'under control'_? I have ears to the ground, too, Steph. I hear things. We're on the verge of a full-scale revolt here. What happens if suddenly the entire locker room decides that they don't want to take orders anymore? What if some of them start deciding they want to leave?" He became frank in his tone. "Worse, what if more of them decide they want to back up Daniel and start pushing for spots in the show of their own, huh? Spots that they don't deserve, that would be a disaster, that would be bad for business, all because some little bearded midget inspired them to? We need to do something to turn the tide now. If we don't, then everything we've been working for could go down the drain. Is that what you want?"

After a beat, she let out a frustrated huff of air. "No," she ground out. "Of course not."

"Then let me handle this one," Hunter insisted. "Trust me, getting Punk is the difference maker. If the locker room sees that a guy as high up on the totem pole as CM Punk is endorsing our methods, they'll start to fall in line. They'll lose heart, even moreso when they see Punk kick the crap out of their little hero Daniel a couple times while standing alongside us. The fans, too. We get a guy they love like Punk on our side and get him to take out Daniel, and how long will this rebellion last? Weeks? _Days_? Would it even be that long?"

Stephanie was still unconvinced. She liked things that she was able to control, to predict, to manipulate. She knew, however, that she could do none of those things with the man known as the "Voice of the Voiceless." And whatever Stephanie McMahon could not control, she feared. What she feared, she hated. And what she hated, she would sooner see crushed under her heel than exist another moment longer so to threaten her.

"You won't be able to control him, Hunter," she shook her head. "He's too unpredictable, too much of a rebel…"

"Is he?" he asked. "Or is he really just a businessman at heart? We both know Punk's no angel. He proved that last year when he showed his true colors, shaved his head and ran around with that fatass Paul Heyman in his corner demanding respect. At the end of the day, Punk is no different than any other guy in the business. He's here to make a buck. Make any man the right offer, and he can be had."

"The Million Dollar Man said it best, Steph: everybody's got a price," Hunter continued. "We just need to figure out what Punk's is, and he's ours." He smiled suggestively as he ran his large hands down her soft, business suit-covered frame. "Then, this whole thing will be over, Daniel goes back to the midcard where he belongs, order will be restored and you and I can go back home and laugh about this over a very long and well-deserved vacation on our boat while sailing up to Cape Cod…where you can catch up on your suntan…and I can catch up on my suntan lotion-rubbing skills."

A spark of desire flickered in Stephanie's cobalt blue eyes at that suggestion, as she wrapped her arms around his powerful neck. "Well, I have been meaning to go to a beach lately. I do _sooo_ miss Cape Cod…and suntan lotion," she smirked.

"I'll get you to that beach. I swear," he promised, kissing her affectionately. "Just let me handle Punk. I'll get him to come around. We can get this guy, trust me. Then he'll handle Daniel…and I'll handle _you_ anyway you want me to."

Stephanie sighed as she relented. "Okay, fine. I'll back your play for Punk. But, Hunter, if he becomes difficult, steps out of line, or if he becomes a problem…"

"Like I said, honey," he assured her sweetly, though the meaning behind his next words held a much darker meaning, "If that happens…then _I'll_ handle Punk. _Personally_."

* * *

TBC

* * *

**#AJPunk**

**#PunkleeNation**

**#JeantheGuardianProductions**

**#MaizeandbluekidMasterpieces**


	4. Reflections from Shattered Glass

**Love Is A Battlefield - Part 4  
By Jean-theGuardian & Maizeandbluekid**

* * *

The following chapter was written by Maizeandbluekid:

* * *

**WWE RAW – Sept. 16, 2013  
Quicken Loans Arena, Cleveland, Ohio  
One night after Night of Champion 2013 **

* * *

**Part 2 from AJ's POV**

* * *

_In the end... all I have is me... and that's all I need..._

It may have been a simple tweet that she sent out to her loyal followers long ago, but for AJ Lee, it was more than that. To her, it represented _a lot _more than that.

To her, it represented three things: a motto, a mission statement, of sorts; and most importantly, a way of life.

It had been a way of life that she had been living and experiencing first hand in her six years as a pro wrestler, ever since she made her start performing in dingy gymnasiums and low-ran auditoriums as a scrawny green newbie, wrestling for the nearby local Women Superstars Uncensored -WSU- promotion back in Jersey. Through bumps and scrapes, highs and lows, and most importantly, victories and defeats, she was able to improve long enough, in less than a year, in fact, before obtaining one of her longtime life goals: a developmental contract with World Wrestling Entertainment.

After that, still maintaining her monogamous motto, she kept pursuing and achieving more goals and accomplishments: making waves down in Florida with FCW, becoming the very first woman to have held both the mantle of Queen of FCW and the FCW Divas Championship. Her improvement in skills, from in-ring, to mic work, and most especially of all, character portrayal and connecting with the crowd, garnered enough support and attention from the higher ups to convince them to give AJ a chance to see if she could earn a spot in the main roster by competing on the third season of their developmental talent program, NXT.

It was there that AJ connected with most of the female participants, including the very athletic Naomi, and of course, the toned, busty, two-tone haired Houston, Texas native by the name of Kaitlyn. It was with Kaitlyn that AJ managed to build an even stronger connection than with the other girls, a bond of some sorts, developing into a close, tight-knit friendship between the two. Even though AJ was saddened that she didn't win the competition, she still felt happy and proud that Kaitlyn managed to walk away with the prize at the end. And wouldn't you know it, that some mere months later, AJ would finally get the call up that she had always dreamed of: she would be competing on the main roster in the WWE.

Of course, during her first few months, there were growing pains, as any rookie of any profession can protest to. There were multiple times that they came up short against the treacherous and nefarious team of Beth Phoenix and Natalya, the self-proclaimed "Divas of Doom", who wanted to make a point by demolishing and taking out all the other Divas who they thought were nothing more than a bunch of little perky, pampered, barbie-dolled princesses. Their methods of intimidation would include bullying and humiliation, often placing girls in excruciating holds and submissions moves, often to the point of making them burst into tears and beg for them to stop, if only to keep the bigger-sized muscle duo from tormenting them further. For a while, the Pinup Strong pair took extreme delight in targeting AJ and Kaitlyn, specifically AJ due to her size and stature.

And no matter how many times they were beaten up by them, no matter how many times they may have lost to them, and no matter how many times Natalya tortured AJ by putting her in the move made famous by her legendary uncle Bret Hart, the deadly and dangerous Sharpshooter - sometimes using AJ's own flexibility against her by bending back _way_ too far, causing terrible pain - The Chickbusters kept coming back for more. They didn't back down, they didn't give up wanting to wrestle, and they sure as hell didn't cry, further frustrating the Glamazon and third-generation Hart grappler.

While they didn't garner many victories as a tag team, AJ and Kaitlyn still had each other at the end of the day, and became the best of friends, sisters almost. It even made AJ began to rethink on her self-endeavored motto, that maybe she didn't need to be by her lonesome in such a business as this.

Then... everything went to Hell.

First, there was Daniel Bryan. What started as a sweet little crush evolved into a full-bloom romance between Daniel and AJ, with tender kisses being shared in between matches and tours on the road. AJ had thought she had finally found true love. She had recently been fresh off of a parting with her fellow FCW and NXT member Trent Barreta, and before that, was involved in a long-standing relationship with the man who trained her in the first place, Jay Lethal. While things ultimately didn't work out between her and Jay, she would always be grateful to him for training her.

For a while, it seemed destined to be a true fairytale fable quickly became a horror story. And it all started after Daniel won the World Heavyweight Championship. Before that title, he was kind, sweet and endearing. Before that title, he would listen to her, hear her out if she wanted to get something off her mind, and always be mindful and appreciative of her. But after he cashed in that Money in the Bank briefcase on an unconscious Big Show to claim his goal and achieve his own personal accomplishment, something began to change within the Aberdeen, Washington native. He became more brunt and short when being talked to, his mood always seemed on edge, with small hints of paranoia splashed in. This affected his relationship with AJ, because whenever he would ask for her opinion on something, he would almost always cut her off, often with an "_AJ, shut up_," attached to it.

The first major warning sign was when during a title match he had with Big Show, Daniel scampered around the ring, leading the 7 foot, 441 pound giant on a wild chase...ending with the giant crashing right into little 5'2, 95 pound AJ. It was shocking, stunning, and out of nowhere. It left Big Show crushed with guilt, Daniel bewildered with apparent immense anger, and AJ with a sore neck and a bad headache, having to wear a neck brace as a result. But even then, Daniel seem to be concerned with AJ's health and well-being even less and less, and being more concerned with keeping his precious title with him more and more.

Then, the dam broke.

The scene was Miami. WrestleMania XXVIII. Over 70,000 screaming fans taking in the glory and grandeur of the Showcase of the Immortals. And with the supremely skilled Daniel opening up the show by putting his precious Championship on the line against the strong Irish brute Sheamus, who earned his title shot by winning the Royal Rumble, the bearded submission specialist felt all the confidence in the world, like there was nothing that could go wrong. He felt so confident that right as the match started, he called AJ to the apron to share a small, short kiss.

_That's_ when everything changed.

One harsh Brogue Kick and 18 seconds later, Daniel lost it all: his pride, his dignity, his WrestleMania moment, and most importantly, the worst thing of all, he lost the World Heavyweight Championship. Instead of owning up to his own cocky arrogant ways as the reason for his embarrassing loss, or even trying to look within himself to see what was wrong, Bryan found a different unsuspecting target, instead: AJ.

In front of a public crowd and a worldwide television audience, Daniel decided the blame for his defeat at WrestleMania solely on AJ. The accusation was wild, baseless, and left AJ confused and bewildered, but what came next was even more brutal: Daniel broke up with her. In a blistering, multi-layered rant that lasted several minutes, Daniel unleashed all of his fury and anger on AJ, wishing she was never his girlfriend, wishing he had never met her, even going so far as to wish that AJ had never been born. She would have gotten more sympathetic gestures from the crowd, if they hadn't been so enamored and fixated on doing that stupid and ridiculous "YES!" chant with him. It made the whole moment even more degrading and humiliating, as she ran away in a great haste, with tears stinging in her eyes and her heart completely broken.

She knew that at least someone would be comforting her in her time of need, and she was grateful to find that it was none other than Kaitlyn that tried to talk to her...

The keyword here is _tried_, because what AJ heard when Kaitlyn _tried_ to talk to her sounded weird. It sounded like she was chastising her. From saying she needed to get over it, to even suggest that she had to have known that this was coming...what was Kaitlyn trying to prove? That she was right all along about Daniel? That AJ somehow..._deserved_ this kind of treatment? She would have expected this type of verbal diatribe from smug rogues like Vickie Guerrero or the Bella Twins. But from Kaitlyn of all people? Katie Kaboom? Her supposed best friend and Chickbuster for life? It was too much to comprehend.

As a result, things changed even more, some would say for the worst. But for AJ, all she would have to say about that was, "so what"? So what if things became a little, shall we say, erratic? So what if AJ started to display traits of someone having a nervous breakdown, whose sanity was slipping, who may have been going..._crazy_? So what if her behavior and her actions became more out of control? So what if in some of her matches, her moves and strikes would be stiffer, more hard-hitting than usual? If you were in AJ's shoes and had gone through what she had endured, you'd be wanting to let off a little steam, too. And for the supposed poor unfortunate soul who was standing across from her in the ring, so what? Where were they when _she_ needed support, when _she_ needed comfort, when _she_ needed healing, not just from what happened with Daniel but with Kaitlyn as well?

Still, even she got some semblance of relief when taking out her stress on someone in the ring, it still didn't fill the hole in AJ's heart. Well, it got filled, but it was filled in a way that no one would foresee.

And it all started with CM Punk.

AJ couldn't quite put a finger on why she was so intrigued in Punk in the first place. Was it his look? The tattoos, slicked back hair and lip ring piercing were interesting, to say the least. Was it his lifestyle? While she wasn't as loudly adamant as Punk, AJ considered herself to be a person with straight-edge beliefs, not partaking in any consumption of alcohol or drugs, nor had she ever smoked a single cigarette. Her parents would have been extremely proud of her for that. But if it wasn't that, what was it then about Punk that made him so damn attractive to AJ?

Maybe it was, as his theme song alluded to, his personality. He was a guy who had no filter whatsoever to whatever was on his mind. There was no sugarcoating of any kind on his words; it was purely from the heart. AJ admired that. She admired that type of honesty in a guy. She had only wished Daniel was more like that when they were together. So, for the next several weeks, she began to explore more of her attraction to Punk, whether it be wishing him luck before he went out for his matches, coming during said matches to give some "motivation", even going so much as to wear a customized version of one of his shirts. Obviously, there weren't that many in stock that complimented her small frame, but luckily she always had herself a trusty pair of scissors for the occasion.

While all of this was going on, she wondered if Punk felt the same about her that she did for him. Truth be told, while he thought that AJ was a sweet girl, and actually pretty cute, he would be lying if he didn't say that he felt quite uncomfortable by some of her advances. He knew what Daniel had done to this poor woman, and he was quite sickened by it. He was no longer the mild-mannered up and coming kid that he knew all those years ago back in the Independent Circuit. Instead, what he had become was a sniveling, conniving, cowardly excuse of a champion, and a pathetic excuse for a man with the way he treated AJ. So, if anything, if there was one thing that Punk felt for AJ initially, it was sympathy. Sympathy for what Daniel had done to her, and sympathy for what she became as a result. But out of that sympathy, came a concern. She had become more unpredictable, more unhinged, more..._crazy_.

And while AJ would deny it, and would hate being called as or being described as that certain word, her actions didn't help her case much. She would constantly get involved in Punk and Bryan's matches, as a distraction, as a hindrance, or, in her own point of view, for pure curiosity. Then soon after, she started to draw in the attention of the Devil's Favorite Demon himself, the demented monster known as Kane. But he came and went, and the love rectangle became a triangle once more between Bryan, AJ and Punk. Even Punk would admit that while he was still cautionary when it came to AJ, the attention she was giving him felt pretty damn good. And the kisses, too. _Definitely_ the kisses. Soon, it all manifested and built upon itself so much that at point, there was a trading exchanges of marriage proposals...amongst themselves.

Whether the proposals came from AJ to Punk, or Bryan to AJ, things turned into even more of a whirlwind by the time Money in the Bank rolled around. The powers that be decided that the WWE Title clash between Punk and Bryan would need more incentive than a simple wrestling match; it would be contested under no-disqualifications. And one more added element of juicy drama: there would be a special guest referee. And that referee would be none other than the spitfire herself, AJ.

And at that pay per view, after a hard-fought battle filled with nervous tension, emotional drama, and weapons galore, it was Punk who prevailed, retaining his championship in the process. As he went along his way, celebrating with the fans on his latest triumph, AJ was left in the ring, sitting down on the canvas next to Daniel's broken body, her legs crossed Indian-style just like how Punk would do, a sad forlorn look on her face. It appeared that even though she had made her choice on who she wanted to be with, Punk seemingly failed to notice.

After that, there was very little to no contact at all between AJ and Punk, as they merely went their own paths in their own fashion. AJ would in fact accept another marriage proposal from Daniel, but this time, with a trick up her sleeve. As a big time chess move, she played Daniel for a fool where at their wedding, televised on the 1000th episode of RAW no less, she announced to the whole world that she had already said yes... but to something else entirely. She had officially accepted Vince McMahon's offer to become the new RAW General Manager. At that precise moment, AJ proceeded to skip her way out of the ring, and out of Daniel's life, leaving the once-known American Dragon fumed, heated, but most importantly humiliated in front of the world, poetic justice and sufficient revenge for AJ, and she moved on to the next chapter.

As for Punk...well, he went on his own path, as well. But it was done in a way that no one foresaw coming. On that same night in St. Louis, as Punk put his title on the line in the main event against a familiar foe, John Cena, who was utilizing his own Money in the Bank WWE Championship contract briefcase, a shocking swerve occurred. That's because once the Big Show interfered and started causing havoc, Punk inexplicably left Cena to fend for himself as the massive giant attacked. It might have gotten worse for the leader of the Cenation had it not been for The Rock coming to the rescue, laying out the World's Largest Athlete with a massive spinebuster, setting up his famous move, The People's Elbow.

But as Rock made that last bounce off the ropes, a force collided with him, knocking him off his feet and stunning not only him, but every fan that was watching... that force was Punk. And with an entirely different look in his eyes, and an entirely new demeanor about him, he waited on his prey, stalking almost, as Rock got back up before hoisting the Brahma Bull on his shoulders, and delivering a scintillating and brain-scrambling GTS. With nothing else left to do or say, and bodies lying strewn around him, Punk simply picked up his title, exited the ring, and left up the ramp, turning his back not only on Rock and Cena, but on the entire WWE Universe. A universe that included AJ.

In the proceeding weeks and months, Punk's attitude changed for the worse. Gone was the witty, quick-tongued fan favorite who helped change the landscape of WWE; now was a man who was a shadow of his former self, who only cared about preserving his own selfish quest for greatness, and a delusional outlook on not getting the proper "respect" that his own ego-driven mind had thought of. He accelerated this change in personality by pairing up with Paul Heyman, a man that while indeed helped shaped Punk's career, was far from the most likeable guy you want to be around, or trust. As this partnership evolved, Punk became nastier and more vicious with his insults and actions; from disrespecting legends such as Bret Hart, Jim Ross and Jerry Lawler, to cold-heartedly mocking The Undertaker as he mourned the passing of his own mentor, Paul Bearer.

But if you asked a certain petite New Jersey native brunette, his most egregious and heinous act came when he sought out to embarrass someone in front of the public, letting private details slip carelessly into the open, and played a hand in making her life hell: that person he wronged was AJ herself.

She could not believe the things Punk were saying and alluding to, and how he reveled in it so much, knowing full well how this burned her inside, and how she couldn't do a damn thing to him physically because she was on probation. But most of all, it hurt. It hurt because AJ thought that this was a good friend, a close friend that she could confide in and feel comfortable around. But it wasn't. It was just another smug prick, another arrogant ass who cared more about his precious title than he did about her. Of course, this brought back stinging memories of Daniel's cruel mistreatment.

So AJ, being brushed off so harshly and carelessly by Punk, tried again to find that confidant. And she would... but she would pay a heavy price for it as a result.

What started out as a simple "business dinner" then spiraled out of control into a public "scandal" as AJ was accused, by Vickie Guerrero of all people, of having an inappropriate affair with someone on the roster while as GM. And to the surprise of many, it wasn't Punk... it turned out to be John Cena, instead. And the evidence, as privately invading and crude as it was, was pretty hard to ignore: voicemails, photographs, and an apparent video of AJ walking into Cena's hotel room, caused many suspicions and raised many eyebrows. As a result, AJ lost her job as General Manager.

While Punk noted on one instant that he sort of missed having AJ around as GM, he quickly put it aside, focusing more on defending his title day after day, and carving up his own piece of history.

As for AJ, this whole mess with Cena and Vickie got even more convoluted when Dolph Ziggler, Vickie's own little boy toy, started adding in his two cents, brashly bragging to Cena that not only he could steal his spotlight, but his "girlfriend" as well, obviously referencing to AJ. At that point, AJ was sick of the accusations. There was no possible way that she could get romantically involved with Cena, right? They were just friends, right?

That seemed to be the case, but when John shocked her, and shocked everybody else by planting a big kiss on AJ in front of the entire world, she was instantly smitten, and wanted to return the favor in more ways than one. Cena though, wasn't quite _that_ interested in AJ as she was in him, and turned down her advances and professions of love. That was more than enough to send AJ over the edge. Once again, _another_ man thought he was too good for her, and wanted to end things _his_ way? _"Well, not this time_,_"_ she thought to herself on one occasion. _"This time...I'm gonna be ending matters __**my**__ way."_ And that she did, proving it efficiently when she pushed Cena off a ladder, and ruined his chances of defeating Dolph to claim another Money in the Bank contract.

At that same moment, when she a look of tranquil fury in her eyes as she took her aggression out on Cena, AJ stopped to turn and look at Dolph, the man that she, to a large degree, helped win his match. When they locked eyes, a spark was lit, an attraction was formed, and a connection was created. And so with that, AJ affiliated and associated herself with Dolph, and this relationship was the longest and more fortuitous of the ones she had in the previous year. While there were lows of one or the other losing matches or coming up on the short end of the stick, there was still that epically great moment the night after WrestleMania, when Dolph cashed in on an injured Alberto Del Rio to become the World Heavyweight Champion. It was a very proud moment for AJ to witness, mainly since that was still in the confines of her home state, New Jersey.

And things would get even better for AJ. After winning a battle royal to determine the #1 contender for the Divas Championship, AJ found great pleasure in knowing she would be going toe-to-toe with her former "friend", now bitter enemy, Kaitlyn. But AJ wanted more than that. She wanted AJ to feel the same hurt, the same suffering, the same emptiness she felt when Daniel left her, and no one, not even her supposed "best friend", came to her defense and comfort. It was then that AJ concocted a treacherous ruse, one that would require the services of their heavy guard, Big E Langston, to play along. In the end, they played an elaborate hoax on Kaitlyn, using Big E to pretend he was some sort of Secret Admirer for her, only to then drop and reveal the plan as one giant rib. AJ would add more fuel to the fire, using her words to insult Kaitlyn, calling her "pathetic trash" that "none of these people give a damn about". It drove Kaitlyn to tears, and shattered her psyche, leaving her open for AJ to take advantage upon.

And with that she did, for at the first annual "Payback", AJ would overcome Kaitlyn's anger, prey upon her careless decisions, and slap on the painful and inescapable Black Widow submission hold, forcing Kaitlyn to tap out, giving AJ the win and her first ever reign as WWE Divas Champion. It was a moment 14 years in the making, a moment and goal that she had fantasized about and dreamed about ever since she was a young girl. It was so poignant and memorable for AJ, that she soon get the unforgettable date seared on her body, in the form of a tally mark tattoo that ran across the back of her neck.

But soon, the happy times would end, for on that same night, Dolph, who was returning to action after suffer a serious concussion that would put him out of action for nearly two months, immediately lost the World title in heartbreaking fashion to Del Rio, who was merciless in his pursuit with relentless attacks and kicks to Dolph freshly injured head.

Dolph would eventually get his rematch, and it would come the very next month at the Money in the Bank pay per view. Funny how things were continue to connect between AJ and that event and moniker. And during the grueling match, with both competitors down, AJ took it upon herself to go down to ringside, to provide support for her man. But surprisingly, Dolph shooed her way. Why? Did he _not _want her there at his side, making sure Del Rio didn't pull any dirty tricks? What happened with Dolph, what had changed with him? Before she could continue these thoughts further, she saw Del Rio become vicious again, battering Dolph a plenty before rolling down his knee pad, making it apparent that he was about to do something very dastardly to Dolph's head. With flashbacks of Payback running through her mind, and concerns and fears for her love's safety and well-being, AJ hustled into the ring and clocked Del Rio in the head with her title, causing immense displeasure with the crowd as it resulted in a disqualification, meaning that Dolph could not win the title. Dolph was apparently not pleased as well, as he started yelling and shouting at AJ in disbelief with what she had done, with AJ merely pleading and countering with cries of, _"I was just trying to help!"_

She hoped that despite all that, things would cool down and that she and Dolph would go back to their loving ways. It didn't. The next night on RAW, Dolph let it be known, very publicly, that things were _over_ between him and AJ. They were _done_.

That was it, now. That was the absolute last goddamn straw. AJ couldn't believe it? AGAIN with a failed romance? What was up with these men that they couldn't find long-term happiness with her? Could it have been that _she_ was part of the problem, perhaps? No. No, that's lunacy. That's stupid. That's completely idiotic. She knows what kind of woman she was, so any man to turn her down or not appreciate what they had was a damned fool in her book. So AJ made sure that Dolph would pay for this transgression by turning Big E loose on him, which turned into a brief feud that culminated at SummerSlam.

At that point, AJ was done with letting relationships could her career and chew up her time. She got into this profession because she wanted to be a _wrestler_, not the village bicycle. So with that, she focused more on defending her championship, turning back all comers and challengers, proving that without a shadow of a doubt that she was the absolute best in her division.

What a sec. _Best_? Where did that line of thinking come from? Surely, she couldn't have thinking about Punk, right? Well, surely as it was, and as fate would allow it, the night that AJ finally won the coveted Divas title, it would also be the night that the Second City Saint made his anticipated return to the ring, his first bit of action since leaving to find himself after WrestleMania. And what would a big fight atmosphere for a CM Punk match be if it wasn't in his hometown of Chicago?

AJ remembers, how while in the midst of drying her tears and tending to Dolph, she couldn't help but notice on the small television screen in the training room what was going on with Punk in his match with Chris Jericho. There was something definitely _different_ about him, for sure, but AJ couldn't quite put a finger on it. Was it the crowd reaction, and how he himself was acting? Granted, it was Chicago, so they would cheer for him no matter what, but Punk's body language and temperament was in quite a stark contrast she had seen months before; he looked more calm, more peaceful, more relaxed...like he was when she first became attracted to him. A change in attitude, perhaps? The mere fact that he chided Paul Heyman for trying to get involved in his match, even though it almost cost him the victory, was surprising to see for AJ, as she could remember a time where Punk would _embrace_ that sort of thing, if it all meant him sneaking out with the victory at any costs. Was it the physical look? The fact that he decided to let his hair grow back out after constantly shaving it for months on end was a welcome sight to see, and even AJ would admit that her looked...well...at least a little handsome with it.

But why was she thinking these insipid thoughts? At that point, she was still the object of Dolph's affection and apple of his eye, so why was she spending all this time thinking about Punk? Maybe...because there was unfinished business? And not just that, but a sense of longing for the connection they once had. While AJ was doing fine with Dolph at that time, it didn't have the same type of feel as she did when she was with Punk. She couldn't explain it, but it just wasn't quite the same.

But that train of thought would soon leave her mind in a memory, as AJ, free of binding romances and frivolous flings, began to move on to her new objective: showing the entire Divas division exactly what she was made of. And what better way to that was to take apart and dismantle this new group of pretenders that were in the division: the cast of _Total Divas_.

Yes, that sickening, pathetic, ridiculous excuse of a "reality show" that was generating buzz around the company, featuring an old rival of hers, Natalya; her one-time NXT-mate, Naomi, along with her fellow Funkadactyl partner Cameron; the two fresh-faced newbies, Jojo and Eva Marie; and of course, the accursed Bella Twins. Some said it was a hit; others said it may as well been saving the Divas division. What? Were they serious? _Saving the division_? If anybody was doing the damn saving around here, it was AJ. What other Diva garnered the most attention of the audience in the past? What other Divas got the fans emotionally invested into almost everything that Diva did, something that hadn't been seen in _years_. What other Diva managed to manipulate and tug at some of the biggest superstars in the business today, even getting a stint as the General Manager for Monday Night RAW, for Christ's sake?

_No one. _Except AJ.

So one night in Phoenix, with anger on her mind, venom in her heart, and a free microphone, AJ went on live TV and told those girls, as well as anyone who would listen, what she _really_ thought about them, their stupid show, and their sudden new fame.

"Do you wanna know what I see when I look in that ring? Honestly?" She semi-asked open-endedly. "A bunch of cheap, interchangeable, expandable, useless women. Women who have turned to reality television 'cause they just weren't gifted enough to be actresses and they just weren't talented enough to be champion." She unleashed her frustration and fury in a slew of words, all with the intent of leaving their mark.

She had commented on how she had accomplished in one small year what none of these broads would have able to do in their entire careers. How these stiff, ungrateful plastic mannequins would just walk through the door-a door that _she_ had even made possible-without expressing their gratitude or thanks? "I worked my entire life to get here. I _gave_ my life to this and you were just _handed_ fifteen minutes of fame. She was on a roll now and wouldn't stop, as she soon dished the biggest dirt that got the biggest reaction from the crowd, making points that were completely intended as a shot to each selected group of the _Total Divas_ members.

She took her shot with the newbies and the Funkadactyls with, "I didn't get here because I was cute..." She switched attention now to the third-generation Hart blonde with the quip of, "...or because I came from some famous wrestling family..." And lastly, and most especially of all, to the Bellas, "...or because I **_SUCKED_**...up to the right people." _Everyone_ knew what she had meant from that last remark, taking a shot at not only the Bellas' spot and position in the company, but also at how they had gotten that spot to begin with, due to them happen to be dating two of the biggest stars and names in the company, a certain bearded "_Yes!_" Man and a guy who always preached "_Hustle, Loyalty, and Respect_". She let them know that how many red carpets they walked on in their gaudy expensive heels, or how much attention or "admiration" they would receive as part of being on this show, they would _never_ be able to rise to her level, not even to lace up her boots, more specifically, her Chuck Taylors.

She closed out her heated rant with the following: "You are all worthless excuses for women and you will never be able to touch me. And _that_...is reality."

One mic drop and victorious skipping later, AJ had done the damage. It became one of the most talked about moments of the night, the highest watched segment of the show, even garnering acknowledgement from the commentary booth, who begrudgingly admitted that AJ had laid down the cold-hearted truth.

Everyone online, whether it be on Message Boards or on Twitter, praising her vitriolic words, agreeing with her strong opinions, even going so far to compare it to the infamous Pipebomb that Punk himself dropped two years ago. Even AJ had to admit, she was flattered by the praise, even so much the Punk comparison. But what _really_ got her, as well as everyone else's attention, was that upon hearing the rave reviews, it was _Punk _who wanted to see for himself. And after upon viewing the video, he gave his stamp of approval, christening it with a simple hashtag:

_#pipebombshell_.

Soon after, AJ would find herself in the crosshairs of the Total Divas, with her championship the most valued prize of all. And after disrupting a triple threat match that would determine her next challenger, it was then decided upon by Stephanie McMahon, who AJ had affectionately called "Boss Lady", made it official that at Night of Champions, AJ would defend the Pink and Silver Butterfly belt in a Fatal 4 Way against Natalya, Naomi and Brie Bella. And on that night in Detroit at the Joe Louis Arena, AJ was able to stave off gang up attacks and improbable odds as she once again retained her title, tapping out Natalya with the Black Widow.

Now here she was at this moment, exiting past the curtain after another stare down with Nattie, with a seemingly empty feeling, a familiar feeling that she had hoped to never see again. Why couldn't she be happy? She had once again silenced her critics and proved her worth, and was still champion. But something was still amiss; something was still missing. Comfort, perhaps. It made AJ ponder: had she truly alienated anyone and everyone around her, from her words to her actions and in-between? Had she done irreversible damage to her reputation, and her ability to be trusted? She couldn't exactly find the answer.

But this line of thought was quickly put to the side, as she looked up from her own deep thoughts to look upon the chaotic scene before her: Superstars and Divas attending to the aid of the Hall of Famer Dusty Rhodes, another shameless victim in the McMahon family's game, all for the sake of determining what was "best for business."

She had to admit, even to herself that what the McMahons were doing was cruel, unfair and highly unnecessary. And what point where they trying to prove? That only a certain mold and a certain kind of wrestler should determine who would be the face of a division, of a company? If that's the case, then AJ should have been disqualified, due to her small frame that was, in her own view, not that hot-looking. Of course, many would disagree with this assertion, but this was just a trait of AJ's, to be self-deprecating to an immense degree. In that regard, she sympathized with Daniel's plight, and deep down, rooted for him to succeed (not that she would _ever_ admit that.)

And, while purposely or not, it once again got her thinking about Punk. What was it about that man that she couldn't keep her mind off of? And at that moment, whether it be coincidence or fate, AJ looked around the area, and found herself locking eyes once again with CM Punk. Slightly startled and on edge, AJ looked upon Punk in a gaze, her soulful brown eyes staring intently into his mossy green ones. That nervous tension, a slight familiar sense of Deja Vu, came upon them, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. In a move that surprised her even more, Punk broke the ice, giving her a small, noticeable smile, as if to say, _"How are you?"_ AJ returned the favor, offering a sympathetic upward curve of the lips as well, as if to answer by saying, _"I'm doing okay."_

Satisfied by that, Punk gave her nod and turned on his heel, off to his bus and on his way. AJ in a way was glad, yet at the same time, disappointed. A part of her did in fact want Punk to stay a little longer, maybe walk up to her, maybe even a small talk or chit-chat. She couldn't explain why, but it would help soothe the emptiness inside her.

So with a narrowed from, AJ went off on her own way, the encounter still fresh on her mind, the experience still implanted in her heart. It once again made her think about her motto:

_In the end... all I have is me... that's all I need..._

But for AJ Lee, she wasn't so sure that was true anymore.

* * *

**TBC…**

* * *

**#PunkleeNation**

**#Maize&BlueKidMasterpieces**

**#JeantheGuardianProductions**


	5. Close Encounters

******Love Is A Battlefield - Part 5  
By Jean-theGuardian & Maizeandbluekid**

* * *

**Wednesday, Sept. 17**

**WWE House Show **

**Prairie Capital Convention Center, Springfield,IL**

**Backstage**

* * *

Only in the WWE could one actually hear the universe-a living, breathing, larger-than-life universe-talking to you. Actually, physically, loudly and rabidly talking, screaming for your attention.

Sometimes, the universe spoke to you and said that "You Suck!" Sometimes, that universe cheered you on, let you feed off its energy, draw strength from it, allowing you to go to physical plateaus that your otherwise battle-weary body could not reach.

And sometimes, every now and then, the universe would scream as one as a plea for help. A call to arms. Crying out, holding out, for a hero. One person. One individual. One star they called out to above all others to light their darkest hours.

For the second night in a row, Punk heard that call. And they called for him.

He was backstage, still nursing his wounds from three nights before at Night of Champions. Despite doctors' insistence, he had been going stir-crazy for days just sitting around, waiting for his ribs to heal. He hated not being able to physically compete, being unable to do what he loved to do. It just served as another reminder that Heyman and Ryback got the best of him; another reminder that Heyman was sitting on his fat ass somewhere, laughing at him.

So Punk barged into Brad Maddox's office and demanded to be placed on the card, and he didn't care who he had to face, fully intent on beating a match out of that goofy kid if he didn't comply, which the Chicago native was fully expecting him not to do. Imagine his surprise when Maddox, in an about-face of his condescending demeanor on Monday, stunningly agreed, no questions asked. Figured he could push his luck a little, Punk demanded to face Ryback, only to be told that the Human Wrecking Ball was not in the building, nor was Paul Heyman, both given the night off. However, after an angry Punk threw him against the wall by the scruff of his neck, the upstart Raw GM hurriedly offered Curtis Axel as a peace offering to him. Reluctantly, Punk accepted the match; after all, Axel might not have been the Heyman guy he was after, but at this point, Punk would take any opportunity to stick it to that bloated walrus that he could get.

Axel gave him a pretty good fight out there. Punk's injured ribs aside, he knew that the reigning WWE Intercontinental Champion was good. Really good. Considering his father, Curt "Mr. Perfect" Hennig, was one of the all-time greats, Punk had expected no less. Axel was brutal out there, vicious, unrelenting, honing in on those injured ribs. But Punk was resilient, determined and, more dangerously, really pissed off tonight. In the end, Punk's experience prevailed, hitting the GTS on the youngest "Heyman Guy" for the pin. But that wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. Finding his newest weapon of choice, a kendo stick, that he had paid off one of the tech guys to hide under the ring, Punk walloped the prone Axel with brutal shot after shot from the unforgiving bamboo rod, to the delight of the crowd, leaving Axel writhing in pain with red welts painted all over his sides while the crowd fervently chanted his name in approval. His body was pretty sore, but Punk found the beating he gave Axel…therapeutic.

He still hung around by gorilla backstage after the match, however. Why, he didn't know.

He was under no obligation to be there any longer, he could have just hopped on the tour bus with Kofi and had the driver haul ass back on the road. With a few days rest in between, he was scheduled for Monday to be back on Raw at the AllState Arena in his beloved hometown of Chicago. And that was one show, bruised ribs or not, that he refused to miss, a chance to perform in front of his friends and family. He should have made a beeline for the bus and have been on the road by now. Besides, it wasn't as if people were exactly lining up to talk to him these days.

Despite the fact that he had turned over a new leaf, found a new kind of peace within himself after coming back from his two-month hiatus, there was still an air of distrust that most of the locker room had towards him these days, fallout from the past few months when he was, in retrospect, a complete and utter asshole, just a puppet dancing at the whims of Paul Heyman. Zack Ryder, once a good friend of his, didn't talk to him anymore these days. Sheamus wasn't around due to injury, but Punk had noticed that his longtime Irish buddy's normally jovial demeanor towards him had cooled before the Great White went on the injured list. Kaitlyn, Sheamus' girlfriend and one of the few female friends Punk had on the roster, also became distant to him, Punk suspecting that there was some resentment towards him she carried related to…well, to someone he and her both used to know and care for greatly. While there was an unspoken sense of respect between the two in the past, Cena had cautiously eyed Punk every now and then before his triceps tore in August. And there was far too much tension between himself and Daniel, dating back to early last year, for the two longtime former friends to start talking again. Based on that abundance of ex-friends and sworn enemies he'd made, Punk knew the safest place for him to be was anywhere but here these days.

But he just couldn't leave yet. He just had to be around it. All of it, from the smell of wires and air-conditioned air backstage to the heat of the pyrotechnics from gorilla to the load roars of the fans every night. He missed it in these last two months he was away. God, how he missed it. The farther he was away from it, the more he reminisced about the time he spent in self-loathing and reflection after WrestleMania when he went into hiding following his loss to the Undertaker. Too many bad memories. He needed to be active, he needed to be around wrestling, to breathe it, live it, immerse himself in it. In many ways, it was all he had now. He knew it, and even Paul Heyman knew it:

"Here is the truth. You have no _family_. You're estranged from your own _mother and father_. You have _no __**wife**_. You have _**no **__**children**_. All you have_…is them_. All you have is the WWE Universe. All you have is their admiration. All you have is their respect. _All you have is their affirmation!_"

Heyman might have been a lying, no-good SOB, but as he replayed that speech his former mentor railed at him months ago, Punk knew he was right about one thing: Punk had nothing but all of this now, because he threw the best parts of his life-his friends, his fans, his self-respect…his chance at love-he threw all of it away listening to that opportunistic piece of slime. He'd get it back, Punk vowed, he would recover everything he had lost, in time…but not before he finished off Paul Heyman and made him pay the ultimate price for his betrayal, his manipulations, his schemes. That was the plan.

The problem was, at the moment, the universe…the one thing Punk had left now…seemed to have different plans for him.

Here he was, watching Daniel Bryan against the U.S. Champion Dean Ambrose backstage—Punk had known Ambrose for about 2 years; talented, wild, and completely unstable—and Daniel was more than a match for the talented upstart champion, locking him in the "YES!" Lock, which prompted the other two members of The Shield and that damned Randy Orton to get involved again, just like the last Monday night. And just like last Monday night, the locker room emptied out and stormed the ring in his defense—Rob Van Dam, Dolph Ziggler, the Usos, the Prime Time Players, Zack Ryder, even Kofi—helping Daniel in driving out the conniving attackers to the roars of "YES! YES! YES!" from the crowd.

And just like Raw two nights ago, somewhere in-between Orton and the Shield's attack on Daniel and the cavalry making the save, the WWE Universe, the raucous fans in attendance in Springfield, cried out for one man, one superstar, to save their newly-anointed hero:

"_**CM PUNK! CM PUNK! CM PUNK! CM PUNK**_!"

Punk heard them. Loud and clear, did he _ever_ hear them.

And it surprised him, in some ways. Normally, those cries for a hero were reserved for someone like Cena, or someone from the old days like Stone Cold Steve Austin, or The Rock, or Shawn Michaels. But there they were, 15,000 strong, shouting for Punk, calling for him to be their hero, to get involved and put an end to Orton and the Shield's beatdown of Daniel.

He would have been lying if said he didn't feel a little part of him, the part of him that rooted for the underdog, that pulled for the little guy-the part of him that was more "Voice of the Voiceless" than "Best in the World"—tempted to go out there and answer that call. But instead, Punk continued to sit by the crates, looking away awkwardly from the expectant eyes of the tech guys and handful of Divas and Superstars around the gorilla position that were half-expecting him to head down to that ring in a burst of audible static and fire and brimstone. Watching as the stream of superstars emptied out from the locker room yet again to stand up to Triple H's henchmen…while he stood back and let them pass him by.

He felt for Daniel, he really did. This entire situation was unfair to him; Punk knew first-hand how good Daniel was. He'd wrestled him around the world for more than a decade. Gone through some great ring wars with him through multiple promotions, including the WWE. He knew Daniel had earned, deserved the right to be the WWE Champion, no matter what kind of corporate and backstage politics B.S. that Triple H and the McMahons were playing these days to ensure that would never come true. Punk also knew that the kind of machine Daniel was fighting against was too insurmountable for one man to fight alone. He would need help. He would need friends, soldiers…_heroes_…to take up arms with him in his quest to prove that he could be a champion, that people like him were more than just "B-plus players," as Stephanie had so glibly coined the phrase.

The thing was, that in Punk's eyes…he was none of those things. And frankly, this situation wasn't his problem.

"_What do you mean it's not your problem_?" Kofi incredulously demanded afterwards, the West Ghana native livid when he stepped back through the curtain amid Daniel the celebrating superstars to spy Punk off in a corner by his lonesome, absent of the fray that ensued.

Punk merely shrugged. "This isn't my fight, Kofi. Simple as that."

"Dude, did you even hear the fans? Do you even understand what's going on here?" his longtime friend exclaimed heatedly, unable to comprehend Punk's nonchalant attitude towards this critical conflict.

At that, Punk sighed as he continued to peel away his X-marked wrist tape. Yes, this battle was big, Punk understood that, he knew that this was important, and yes, it went to the root and the heart of the frustration that he so famously vented at the WWE corporate brass on that Raw stage in Las Vegas two years ago, but the fact was, this wasn't his battle to fight. He had a lot going on right now himself. Fighting everyone's battles was more of a John Cena thing, something reserved for a goody-two-shoes wannabe superhero like him. But not him…

"Kofi, look, I get it," Punk wearily replied. "Yeah, Orton's a prick and what's happening to Daniel really sucks, but what do you want me to do, play the conquering hero and get involved in this crap while I'm still locked in a war with Heyman and his guys? I'm not fighting a battle on two fronts, Kofi, that's suicide. Nobody is that good, not even me."

"I hear _Cena's_ that good," Kofi baited, managing a smirk at his road wife.

Unamused, Punk looked up from his peeling wrist tape to stare deadpanned at the teasing Kofi. "One, no he isn't, and two, fuck you, Kingston."

"Alright, alright, whatevs, man," Kofi chuckled, before getting serious again. "Seriously, though…you can't tell me that there isn't a little part of you that wants to get involved in this. You know that what they're doing to Daniel is wrong, Punk. We could use you out there, man."

"No, Kofi, you couldn't," Punk replied, tiredly. "All having me out there would do is bring in my share of problems for Daniel and all of you to deal with on top of everything else. I'd just be getting in the way, or whatever. Trust me, it's better this way. I've got my battles to fight, Daniel's got his battles to fight, let's keep it that way. Frankly, Kofi, I still don't get why you're so involved in this. This isn't the kind of thing you usually do, either, you don't have to get mixed up in this."

At that, Kofi's normally easy-going visage went grave, a stark seriousness overtaking his dark eyes in a way that Punk had never seen before. "That is one hell of a thing for you to say to my face, man."

Sensing the tension between them, Punk tried to diffuse it. "I just meant that-"

"Just meant what, Punk? What, that I can't step up to the plate? That this kind of thing isn't for me?" Kofi questioned, testily. "That I'm just a 'B-plus player' or whatever? That's _exactly_ the kind of thing I'm fighting against! Because I think I can be an A-plus player, and I know that somewhere down the road, there's going to be a kid that wants to be just like me someday, and he'll want to be an A-plus player, he'll want to be WWE Champion. And he may not fit the mold, he might not be what the suits want, but he'll deserve it, and he'll deserve a chance to earn it because of his talent, because of his desire, because of his heart. Just like you did."

At that, Punk had the grace look away for a moment, letting those words sink in, before he tried again. "Kofi, you know that's not what I meant, you know how good I think you are. I just-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Kofi brushed it off, easily, his posture relaxing again. "Relax, dude, we're good. Look, I've got to touch base with Daniel and all them right now, but I'll meet you back at the bus in 10 minutes, okay?"

Punk smiled. "Sure, take your time. It's your turn to fill 'er up this time, anyways."

Laughing, the two friends clasped hands in a high-five/fist pound hybrid greeting of sorts as Kofi headed the other way in search of the others, leaving Punk alone to his thoughts…

…thoughts that he didn't have much time to delve into before an unexpected group of figures came his way. Figures that involved a small flanking of security guards. Large ones, too. Guards that were protectively hovering around a tall, muscular man in a three-piece grey suit and pink tie.

A man also sporting a big, wide smile towards a surprised and wary Punk.

"Hey," Triple H smiled heartily, his arms extended as if he was greeting an old friend. "Great match, Punk. Spectacular job."

Punk could not have been more surprised if it were Hulk Hogan himself. "Uh…thanks," he replied guardedly.

"You know, you kinda did me a little favor out there," the COO continued in a friendly tone. "That Axel kid's been a pain in my ass for a little while. Any time I can see him get knocked down a peg or two is always a good day, in my book."

Still wary, Punk politely, yet coolly replied, "Well, no offense, but that ass-whooping I just gave that tool was more for my own amusement than it was anyone else's."

"Fair enough," Hunter nodded, still smiling. "Hey, look, Punk, I know you've got your issues with Heyman and his little boyfriends these days, and I can't say I blame you. I tried to warn you, remember? A lot of people tried to warn you about being a 'Paul Heyman guy.' That and 50 cents doesn't get you a cup of coffee in this biz."

Deep down, Punk was willing to concede that. Through the years, a lot of people tried to warn him about Heyman. Michael Hayes, Mick Foley, Arn Anderson, Rey Mysterio, Big Show, practically everyone ever associated with the original ECW, and, to a lesser extent, Triple H had all told Punk the same thing—_Paul Heyman is slime. Paul Heyman is scum. Paul Heyman is a manipulator, a liar. He'll ruin you, kid, he'll use you up and throw you away when there's nothing left. Stay away from him, if you value your career, if you value the good in your life._ But Punk was younger, he was blinded by the seemingly kind and nurturing visage Heyman put on to lure in talented guys and he failed to see the man for who he truly was until that fateful night at Money in the Bank 2013 when he saw that slimeball's face, his true face, for the first time. If only he had known before…

Still, that didn't mean that Punk was willing to sit there and let himself be lectured on his past mistakes by, of all people, the Game.

"Is there a point you want to get to, _Mister_ C.O.O?" Punk asked, the last part emphasized rather sarcastically.

Triple H merely chuckled. "I'm just saying, Punk, that Heyman has you outnumbered right now. Lesnar, Axel, now Ryback…but Heyman's got just as many enemies as he does friends, and, uh…I just happen to be one of them."

"What are you getting at, Trips?" Punk asked suspiciously.

Hunter smiled, knowing that he was laying the foundation for his ultimate goal right now. This is where he diverged from his family in methods. Old Man Vince liked to use the fire and brimstone approach, trying to give his wrestlers a kick in the ass in the right direction, and when that failed, he'd bribe them. Stephanie, beautiful as she was, preferred the cold and cutthroat business approach, hard lines and threats to go with the occasional lavish rewards to motivate her employees. But being one of "The Boys" himself for so many years, Hunter knew this much: as much as they occasionally got things done under someone they feared, they always reacted better to someone they thought they could trust. And with a silver-tongued, slick approach to talking, Hunter could easily convey that sentiment, when it suited him.

"I'm just saying this," Hunter smiled, putting as much genuine emotion as he could muster into it. "I trust that you'll be able to take care of anything Heyman and his cronies throw at you. I mean, you're CM Punk, the Best in the World. But if you ever need a favor to, shall we say, even the odds a little? Then my door is always open."

At that, he reached into his pocket and held out for Punk a business card. "And I'm only a phone call away."

Every fiber of Punk's body told him to turn that card away. He knew full well how Hunter did business, and frankly, it made Punk sick to his stomach. And just because he wasn't rushing to Daniel's aid certainly didn't mean he would be eager to take anything being offered by _this_ man or his wretched family. Still, Punk also knew couldn't exactly afford to piss off anyone else at the moment, not with some very sizeable problems in the form of Heyman's boys still after him. Besides, it was just a card. There certainly couldn't be much harm in just taking it; after all, it's not like he would ever have to use it or anything, right?

Reaching out a still-taped left hand, Punk slipped the card between his own fingers, curiously eyeing the numbers embossed in black on the thin sheet. "You know, Trips, given the context of the words, it might look to somebody else that you just asked me out on a date."

At that, Hunter laughed. "Funny guy, that's what I've always liked about you, Punk." _Yeah, right._ "Just remember, if you need any help with the walrus, or anything else, never be afraid to look for a friend. And I can make for a _very_ _powerful_ friend. Think about that."

With those words, Hunter merely cocked his head at his security guards and the C.O.O. walked the other way, likely in search of Orton and the Shield to talk over tonight's blunder, leaving a stunned Punk behind to mull over this very unexpected and cryptic encounter. Why would Triple H, of all people, be offering him anything? Two years ago, they were at each other's throats. Punk had thrown the Cerebral Assassin, his wife, his miserly, decrepit father-in-law and his whole family under the bus with scathing promo after scathing promo. Punk knew for a fact that Triple H never thought highly of him, and the feeling was more than mutual on the Straight Edge Superstar's part. They even beat the hell out of each other in a pay-per-view that year. They weren't friends, never would be. Yet here Hunter came out of nowhere to offer up his assistance in Punk's war against Heyman. Punk couldn't help but to wonder as to the reasons behind the Game's sudden generosity. Did he really hate Heyman that much? Did he just see this as Punk doing the dirty work for him that he couldn't take care of thanks to his other concerns with Daniel? Or was there another motive behind it that Punk had yet to decipher?

All these thoughts and more were whirling through Punk's mind when…

"Wow. Snazzy card you got there. Though, personally, I never saw you as the networking type."

The sound of that light, almost musical voice drew his attention to yet another surprising presence. Only, it was not a tall, muscular man, this time that stunned him, but rather a slim, feminine and perfectly petite form that had crept up right behind him.

The night was just full of surprises, Punk was beginning to think. From old foes…to old flames…

There she was. AJ.

Standing before him wearing a pair of worn blue jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt with her pink-and-black "Love Bites" logo emblazoned on it. Her dark chocolate irises, still as lovely as Punk had remembered them, stared up at him with an indecipherable look, one that was guarded, maybe a little jaded, and yet one that was still as tender and sweet as the girl he first remembered meeting on the set of NXT not two, maybe three years back. The girl that turned his whole world upside down one crazy summer ago.

For a moment, he was so surprised that words became difficult to form. All he could manage, to the utter dismay of his self-professed player status was a clumsy, awkward-sounding, "Wow, um…hey, hi."

For someone that he had seen so brazenly confident, at times a bit cruel in the last few months, it didn't cease to amaze him how this little spitfire with the explosive mouth could seem so shy right now, so…vulnerable, almost.

"Hi," she returned, a little nervously. She looked around as if she was avoiding something, or someone, though why she did, Punk hadn't the slightest idea. Nor did he have a clue of what prompted her next words:

"Listen…can we talk?"

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

**#PunkleeNation**

**#AJPunk**

**#MaizeandBlueKidMasterpieces**

**#JeantheGuardianProductions**


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